The League of Gentlemanly Gentlemen
by Pimpernel Princess
Summary: Major crossover: several famous characters from literature and popular culture arrive at the castle to teach the Beast to be a Gentleman. Can they ever hope to succeed in helping the Beast to win Belle's love? Movie/Musical universe.
1. The Beast Broods and Greets Gentlemen

**Author's Note: Disclaimer:** I do not own _Beauty and the Beast_, _The Scarlet_ _Pimpernel_, _Pride and Prejudice_, _Twilight_, or _Star Wars_. I do own the concept of all of these characters convening, but not much else. Some dialogue and descriptions ripped lovingly from their respective books--ask me if you're not sure if I made it up or not and you wish to use it. Speculations encouraged, reviews welcomed, suggestions suggestable. Everyone may be slightly out of character--if it gets to be too much for you, please review or PM me. Also, check out my other stories-especially **Wolf-Maiden** which is my reworking of the archetypes of _Beauty and the Beast._ Please review if you like it, or even if you don't. This was sparked by a conversation with **Baroness Orc** about the _League of Extraordinary Gentlemen_ (and no, I haven't seen the film yet, but I am DYING to...) and to **Sherlockian Girl** whom I have kept in suspense, waiting for me to post this. Without further ado, the story.

**The League of Gentlemanly Gentlemen**

"Be a gentleman…Be a gentle _man_," the Beast muttered under his breath for the thousandth time. "Dah! I'll never win Belle's love," he growled, pacing his balcony like a caged animal. If only he had an enchanted rose for each time he had stalked across his balcony at midnight. Unfortunately, he realized, neither pacing, nor burying his head in the sand, nor even running to the end of the earth and spending the rest of eternity as a beast would solve his problems. "How do I become a gentleman?" the Beast desperately asked the stars. "What do I need to do?"

Although the night was dark as pitch, the Beast was suddenly blinded by a brilliant white light. Several men were plopped down onto the stones of the balcony.

The first was a pallid seventeen year old with 'God-like' bronze hair. Although his expression was baffled, his face must have been dazzling when he smiled. He reminded the Beast of a statue of Apollo that he had smashed years before.

Next was a blond, lazy eyed man whose height nearly rivaled the Beast's. He was dressed in satin breeches, waistcoat, and overcoat; around his neck was tied an expanse of white, frilly lace. The man eyed the Beast through a little quizzing glass, one eyebrow raised. His lack of fear was both refreshing and disconcerting.

The third man was dressed much like the second, except that his garments were much less ornate and not made of silk. He tipped the beaver-pelt top hat back from where it had slipped when he had appeared. He stared wide-eyed at the Beast and blinked several times. He was obviously afraid, but he was making a valiant effort not to show his fear. He had a clean-shaven, nobly handsome face and curly black hair that the Beast was willing to bet that a woman somewhere was dying to run her fingers through. _Or several women_, the Beast added mentally.

Did the Enchantress, or whoever had brought these men here, mean to humiliate the Beast by placing their handsomeness next to his ugliness?

Despite the fact that the fourth man had a very odd modernized pistol drawn and ready to fire, the Beast immediately liked him better than the others. Maybe it was the determined set of the man's hairy chin, or how the man was dressed in a shabby white shirt and black pants with a yellow stripe up the side. Or perhaps it was because both the Beast and the man were both a little scruffy-looking.

"Sink me, but this is a rather curious event," the tall blond man drawled, breaking the silence.

Everyone began talking at once; the Beast was at a loss for words.

"This certainly isn't Pemberly."

"Where's Bella? I know I'm not dreaming because vampires can't sleep or pass out or go into comas."

"I told Chewie not to fly to close to that black hole," the scruffy man muttered. "Jabba'll have my head if another shipment goes sour…Wait," the scruffy man asked the Beast suspiciously. "You're not a Wookie, are you?"

"Silent," the Beast finally roared. "I do not know how you came to be here—it's certainly none of my doing. I demand that you tell me who you all are and what you're doing here."

The pale teenager spoke first. "I am Edward Cullen. I do not know what I am doing here. I was thinking about how I need a woman with whom to share my lonely and pathetically thirsty existence." Everyone else stared at him in shocked silence. "Oh, yes, well, I am a vampire," he added sheepishly.

"You next," the Beast said, pointing to the tall blond man.

"Sir Percival Blakeney, Baronet," the blond man drawled, bowing elegantly. He waved about his lollipop-shaped eyeglass and flicked a piece of lint off of his immaculately clean coat.

"What is it you do?" the Beast asked testily.

"Not much," Sir Percy said slowly. "I have money, a beautiful French wife who happens to hate the ground I walk upon, and a country estate in England. I make up the most amusing little ditties. Would you like to hear one?"

"No," the Beast said gruffly. "You. Next."

The third man with the dark, curly hair bowed stiffly. "Fitzwilliam Darcy, Gentleman."

The Beast cocked an eyebrow at the mention of the word. "Go on," he grumbled, feigning disinterest.

"Well, ahem, I check over my servant's work to make sure it is being properly completed; when required, try to be a good host; take care of my younger sister, Georgiana; and make sure that my tenants are being provided for."

"I see," the Beast said. "Your turn," he turned to the last man, who was still holding his gun.

"Han Solo," the scruffy one said, suspicious, but smooth. He glanced around warily, then struck his gun into its holster. "Smuggler, ladies' man, and Captain of the Millennium Falcon. Who are you?" Han Solo demanded of the Beast.

"I am the ruler of this castle, the Beast," he said gruffly. "I was a prince once—as pretty as any of you—"

Han Solo interrupted with a snort.

The Beast glared at him, and then continued. "A great act of selfishness caused a witch to change me into this form. Now I must win the love of a woman in order to break my curse. I have been told that being a gentleman may help me. Give me advice," the Beast commanded, "or else I'll…I'll lock you in one of my dungeons," he finished harshly. The Beast was beginning to become desperate.

Edward Cullen and Mr. Darcy looked a little concerned, Han Solo scoffed, and Sir Percy began to laugh aloud.

"What's so funny?" the Beast said crossly.

"La, but it seems that if you'd like to become a gentleman," Sir Percy began, foppishly waving his quizzing glass about, "You'd be best to not to lock your guests in your dungeons."

"Guests?" The Beast started. "Who said anything about any of you being my guests?"

"Well, naturally, we assumed that you would be hospitable, sir," Mister Darcy gulped.

"Yeah," Han Solo chipped in. "It's not our fault that we got plopped down onto your balcony."

"Fine," the Beast said, rolling his eyes in resignation. "Come this way." He led the men down the corridor that led out of the West Wing.


	2. Forming the League

**Author's Note: **My deepest thanks to **Baroness Orc** for beta-ing this chapter. Thanks also to all who have read and reviewed too! I don't own much of this at all. Not the characters, or the setting, at least (even though I did give the valet some lines...) If you're as big of a Beauty and the Beast geek as I am, please check out my reworking of the tale, _Wolf-Maiden_. And please, PLEASE, _PLEASE,_ REVIEW!!! I promise to get the chapters out faster if I get a few... ;)

* * *

The four men followed the Beast through the hall of the West Wing and down a grand flight of stairs into a more cheerful part of the castle. Although the ornate Baroque paintings and furnishings were elegant, they were also unusual-there were no statues of paintings depicting humans, and no mirrors anywhere to be found.

The Beast stopped short when he found a very round woman who was shaped like a teapot. Or rather, she _was_ a teapot. Her torso was bulbous, she wore a lid-like hat, and where her legs where supposed to be, she had a _base_. When she saw the Beast and his visitors, she moved, or, rather, hopped, toward them.

"Mrs. Potts," the Beast commanded, "prepare some rooms for these men. They will be our _guests_ for quite some time."

Mrs. Potts took the appearance of several strangely dressed gentlemen and being bossed around by a beast in stride. Of course, since she happened to be a teapot, it must have taken a great deal to startle her.

"Yes, master," she answered in a warm British accent. "Right away then."

The Beast stalked off in the direction of the West Wing.

"Lumiere," Mrs. Potts called, "Cogsworth?"

The gentlemen standing there looked at each other, not sure what a Lumiere and Cogsworth were. Sir Percy examined his eyeglass, Mister Darcy wondered how he had managed to make his way into this insanity, Edward Cullen was trying to think of where he had heard Mrs. Potts voice before, and Han Solo's hand went back to the blaster on his hip.

Two men, or what were vaguely shaped like men came, one running, one hopping, down the corridor. One, was golden and shaped like a candelabra—his hands and face were waxy and a wick on the top of his head was on _fire_.

The other was a clock: his body was a cabinet, and his face was the face of the clock. On the clock-man's back, there was even a handle to keep him wound. And he seemed to be wound tightly.

"This is Lumiere," Mrs. Potts said, gesturing to the candelabra-man. "And Cogsworth." The clock-man bowed stiffly. He seemed not to have many joints.

"Pleased to serve you," Cogsworth said crisply. "Now please follow me, so that I may take you to your rooms. Lumiere, have the rooms on the third floor made ready."

"Now, now, Cogsworth," Lumiere said in his hearty French accent, "certainly not the third floor. We should be more hospitable to our guests than that. Come now, our best rooms for these gentlemen."

Cogworth pulled Lumiere away from the others. "I have a feeling," he muttered, "that the master would not want us to put these gentlemen in rooms next to _her_."

"Ah, no, it shall not hurt anything," Lumiere wheedled. "We just want the men to be comfortable here. After all, if the girl meets them, she will wonder why they are not being treated well and she will want to know why. Listen to me, my friend. After all, what will it hurt?"

"Fine," Cogsworth said resignedly. "But if the master finds out, you are going to pay for this. Just like the time when the old man came to stay…" They turned back to the others, who had been pretending not to listen. Edward Cullen, in particular, tried to act uninterested. "Mrs. Potts," he asked, trying to fill the awkward silence, "were you ever in a West-End production of a musical where a barber murders people and his accomplice puts the bodies of his victims into pies?"

"I don't believe so, dear," she replied. "Now, follow me down the hall and we'll find you dearies each a room.

"Yes," Cogsworth sniffed, "right away, I believe that they are cleaning the rooms in question" he paused to glare at his cohort, "as we speak."

"We'll make you all comfortable, dears," Mrs. Potts said sweetly as she led them through the castle.

~*~

"You put them _where_?" The Beast roared at Lumiere and Cogsworth.

"His fault!" Cogsworth squeaked, hiding behind Lumiere.

"Master," Lumiere chuckled awkwardly, "I only thought to make them comfortable. Like with the girl. People tend to think more kindly if they are not locked in dungeons."

"What do you know of it?" the Beast growled. "Leave me!"

The two servants scampered out of the room. The beast went to the table that held his rose. He didn't like the idea of the gentlemen being housed so near the girl, but the only alternative he had was to move either them or the girl and since he couldn't do that without great offense, his only alternative was to let everyone stay as they were. With a shudder, he remembered the last person he had offended—the enchantress.

Suddenly, the Beast picked up his magic mirror. "Show me the…" he shook his head. "Belle," he added less gruffly.

A swirl of silver swept across the face of the mirror. It now showed Belle sitting on the floor in her room. The wardrobe was having a rather one-sided conversation about the importance of matching dresses with the occasion while Belle was silently staring out the window. It may have been the Beast's imagination, but he thought that he saw a single tear slip down Belle's cheek.

The Beast's first impressions of the gentlemen who had shown up on his balcony wasn't altogether comforting. They were all much better looking than he was. Surely they had faults, but the Beast doubted that their faults were as terrible as his ugliness or his temper. And if they all wound up being princes or having the most florid manners, or being the most suave with the ladies, so be it—if they had been telling the truth when he had interrogated them. Still, the Beast would have to match them, have to have better manners than the rest. Like it or not, he would have to become a gentleman.

~*~

Once each man was in his room, each found a similar outfit laid out for him: dark brown breeches, tall white stockings, buckled shoes, a lace-less cravat, and a billowy white shirt.

When the animated coat rack—valet—entered Edward Cullen's room to help him dress, he was in for a surprise. Edward, already fully dressed, was slicking his hair back into a queue. He looked like he could be one of the villagers nearby, except for his pale granite skin and the leather cuff that he still wore.

"Your cuff, sir?" The valet said, gesturing to the vampire's wrist.

"My family crest," Edward said firmly. "It stays…Alas for t-shirts and comfortable shoes."

Shaking his head, the valet departed for the next room.

Sir Percy stood next to his bed, examining the clothes set out for him with evident distaste.

"This is France, demm me," Sir Percy muttered irately. "They are supposed to be at the height of fashion, are they not?"

"Er, well, sir…" The valet said, attempting to answer.

"It was a rhetorical question," Sir Percy sighed dramatically. "But I suppose, when in France, dress like a Frenchie, even if it means giving my Hessian boots up for a while."

The valet just nodded, not knowing how to answer. When it came time for Sir Percy to put on his cravat, Percy revolted. He grabbed his exquisitely expensive (and very frilly) cravat and deftly tied it around his neck before the valet could even blink.

"Very important, the cravat," Sir Percy drawled. "You can always tell a man by his necktie, what. Sink me," he said, putting the final touches on the huge bow that he had tied, "'tis a masterpiece!"

The valet began to take Sir Percy's other belongings away, because that is what valets did.

"Wait a moment," Sir Percy said, deftly grabbing his quizzing glass from the moving coat rack. "I must have my quizzing glass. However else will I manage to look foppish?" He held up the glass and tried a few poses.

Realizing that this too was a rhetorical question, the valet did his best to shrug and then left the room.

Mister Darcy was easier to dress than Sir Percy. The valet even managed to force Mr. Darcy's excessively curly hair into a queue—a style of which Darcy was not overly fond. But even polite, _genteel_ Darcy had his limits.

"No," he said firmly. "You shall not take my hat from me. My sister Georgiana and I bought it the last time we were in town. Poor girl, losing both her father and mother, and now me. Please hand me the hat."

The valet did as he was told. Mr. Darcy placed it atop his head and nodded in satisfaction. "Thank you, you are dismissed."

Han Solo was a different case; the valet wanted to groan in frustration. He had managed to convince Han to wear the billowing shirt, the stockings and the buckled shoes, but the breeches and the cravat were a different story.

"What galaxy are we in, anyway? I'm not wearing some girly breeches—although I can think of some ladies who would look good in them. And I don't see why we're being asked to dress like this in the first place. I mean, I'm Han Solo, captain of the Millennium Falcon, the fastest ship in the gal—"

"Sir, may we strike an accord?" the valet asked, weary but polite.

"What?"

"Please, sir," the valet pleaded, "wear the breeches for now, and I shall see if I can find something better for you to wear soon."

"Fine," Han huffed. "But I keep my blaster. Who knows what else is lurking around here."

"Very well, sir," the valet said, relieved that that particular battle was over. "Now, for your cravat…"

"But if I wear that, how will the ladies be able to ogle my chest hair?"

Fortunately for Han, the valet had excellent self-control.

Not long after, Mrs. Potts announced to each of the men that she had laid out a bit of supper for them in one of the drawing rooms nearby. After all, they must be hungry after arriving her so suddenly.

After a quick and mostly silent supper, all of the men found themselves in Sir Percy's room.

"Well, gentlemen," Sir Percy said, sizing up each of the men in his quizzing glass, "I believe I may have found a solution to our predicament."

"You have?" said Edward.

"Yeah, when Tatooine freezes over," Han smirked.

"Do tell, sir," Darcy added.

Sir Percy cleared his throat. "I suggest that the wisest course of action…"

"Yes?" the other three asked together.

"The wisest course of action would be to teach the Beast to become a gentleman."

"What?"

"Why?"

"After the way he treated _us_?"

"Perhaps if we were to help the Beast," Percy drawled, "we could then be magicked back to our respective homes. And sink me, he seems like a nice chap under all of the fur and minus the roaring. Odds fish," Percy chuckled, "I think he could come around quite nicely."

The men looked at each other for a moment.

"Well, we _were_ plucked out of time and space for a reason," Darcy said logically. "To help this beast is as good a reason as any."

"After all," Edward Cullen added, "it isn't as if we had anything to lose."

"Very true," Percy said evenly. "Are we all agreed, then?"

"I'm in."

"As am I."

All eyes fixed on Han Solo.

"I guess I'm in too," Han Solo shrugged.

"What must we do?" Mr. Darcy asked.

"We shall form a league for this purpose," Sir Percy said grandly and much less foppishly than before. "Any ideas for a name, then?"

"The Courteous Coven," suggested Edward.

"The Punctilious Party," Darcy shrugged.

"The Intergalactic Individuals of Illustriousness," Han snorted. "What?" he said defensively. "I've read a books before…"

Percy was tapping his quizzing glass on his chin, trying to think. "Sink me!" He shouted, brandishing his quizzing glass. "I believe I have it now. We shall be called 'The League of Gentlemanly Gentlemen'."

"Huzzah!" shouted Darcy, flinging his hat into the air. Sheepishly he caught it and sat back down. Han and Edward glanced at one other and tried to keep from breaking into hysterical laughter.

"We all shall appreciate your enthusiasm, Darcy," Sir Percy said approvingly. "Now, concerning the formation of the league: one to lead and nineteen…ahem…_three_ to obey."

Sir Percy and Mister Darcy turned to Han, clearly expecting another outburst. Han shrugged innocently. This time, however, the outburst came from Edward Cullen.

"So we're appointing _you_ as our leader?" Edward scoffed. "I'm the oldest, the super fast one, the most adept, the most perceptive, and the most handsome."

"And the most cocky," Han said under his breath.

"Personally, I stand behind Sir Blakeney," Darcy said firmly.

"I guess we'll have to agree…for once," Han said with a nod.

"I abstain from voting," Sir Percy said somewhat nobly, "but it would seem that the majority rules, good fellow."

Edward Cullen's face became stony. And not in the marble, god-like sense, either.

"Trust me on this, gentlemen," Sir Percy said most unfoppishly. "Here is the plan…"

~*~

Once the plan was discussed and the meeting ended, the men dispersed. "It will never work," Edward Cullen muttered as he walked out of the room; he was still stinging from his earlier defeat.

"I would have said the same thing a few minutes ago, kid," Han Solo said, coming up behind him.

"Who are you calling kid?" Edward Cullen said, personally affronted. "I happen to be almost one hundred years old."

"Touchy." Han Solo rolled his eyes.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Again, I'm begging for reviews. If this brought a smile to your face, please review. It's my reward for all my hard work.


	3. Plan A: Lessons from Literary Lads

**Author's Note:** All right--the third chapter is finally here! It's been quite a summer, so forgive me for not posting earlier. Also, a huge "thank you" to the lovely and talented **Baroness Orc**, my beta, for all of her suggestions. Also, thank you to **3DG**, **Baroness Orc**, **Sherlockian Girl**, **Chocochino 11**, and **Ennee Gray** for their lovely reviews!

* * *

The next morning, Percy led the League of the Extraordinary Gentlemen down the hallway to the West Wing. The men unconsciously went into hero formation: Percy, in the lead, dapperly swung his quizzing glass on the end of its cream colored ribbon, while Darcy, at Percy's right, perched his beaver top hat at a jaunty angle atop his dark curls. On Percy's left, Han swaggered forth, hand still on his blaster, and Edward trailed gracefully behind the others.

"Cue the epic hero music," Edward muttered to himself as the men ascended the stairs into the West Wing.

"What was that?" Han said, eyeing the vampire with suspicion.

"Oh, nothing," Edward shrugged innocently.

Han shook his head and resumed swaggering.

After traversing the increasingly dark and dreary corridor that led to the West Wing, he League arrived at the entrance to the Beast's rooms. Percy rapped on the thick, wooden door politely and waited for a response. The League glanced at each other, nervously wondering if the plan that they had worked out the night before was going to sink or swim.

"Cogsworth, I _told_ you to leave me alone!" The Beast bellowed, not even bothering to open the door.

"Odds fish!" Percy exclaimed; this was his chance. "The last time that I bothered to check up on it, my name was definitely not Cogsworth and I do not recall you telling me to leave you alone."

"Oh, it's you," the Beast groaned, opening the door a crack. "Well..?" He said grimly, peeking out at the League.

"Darcy—as secretary of the League, it is your job to tell our host what our mission happens to involve," Percy prompted, giving Darcy a little shove toward the door. Seeming to channel a little of Cogsworth's pomp and officiality, Darcy pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and cleared his throat.

"We have assembled here to help you in the pursuit of becoming a proper gentleman," Darcy read woodenly. "This includes lessons in manners, etiquette, and becoming downright dapper and dashing."

"Huh?" the Beast scratched his head with a claw, thoroughly confused. "You want to help me?"

"Yes, good fellow," Percy said congenially, barging past him into the rundown room. "Zounds! I do believe that is why we were sent here, or brought here, after all. But that is not the point. Now, we shall begin. Edward, tidy up a bit in here. In order to give lessons as a gentleman, one must have the proper setting…there was some word in French, I think. What was it? Well, never mind. Sit down and we can begin.

The baffled Beast stomped over to the only intact chair in the room and plopped down. Percy shot a long-suffering gaze to the heavens and sighed.

"No, no, no, no, _no_," Percy said, brandishing his quizzing glass like a saber. "Get up. Now, like _me_."

Percy glided to the chair and lowered himself onto it _genteely_. "See? Like that."

"I don't see any difference," the Beast said sullenly, not only missing the point, but not even seeing that there was a point to be missed. "That's what I did."

"No it isn't. Remember, there is something in a gentleman's air and manner of walking," Darcy explained with much the same air as his best friend's sister, Miss Caroline Bingley.

The Beast simply looked a little stunned.

"Please, just try it," Percy coaxed. "Once is all we ask."

The Beast began to slouch over to the chair, rather nonplussed. It isn't every day that one receives strange visitors that give one instructions on how to completely rearrange one's habits and mannerisms, after all.

"Wait just a moment—this simply cannot go on," Percy cried, punctuating with his quizzing glass. "Shoulders back, tummy in, head held high, watch your chin…Oooh, I think I just rhymed," Percy giggled for a moment and then went back to the task at hand. "Remember," Percy added, tone a bit more serious, "ladies never like a sloucher. Use your height to your advantage. Take charge of the room as you enter. Think tall."

"I'm huge," the Beast grimaced but did as he was told. Thinking tall, he walked over to the chair and took a seat.

"So much better, highness, so much better," Percy said truthfully, giving him a standing ovation.

"I have never seen a man so much improved," Darcy added approvingly.

"What's next?" Han said, eager to share his own wisdom.

"Next," Darcy said, taking the spotlight, "is basic conduct and manners. There are three main rules to follow that have been passed from Darcy to Darcy over the centuries. One—never lose your temper, especially in front of ladies or people in whom you wish to instill respect. Two—always be a polite conversationalist: never focus the conversation upon yourself. Three—always keep the interest of others before that of yourself. This rule is what most of polite behavior is based on. If you remember these things then we shall have you acting the gentleman in no time."

The Beast nodded, still a bit overwhelmed. He had no idea how he was able to process this information, let alone remember it, and act upon it when necessary and Darcy kept on talking. And talking.

A "man" on a mission, Edward stalked over to the table that held the enchanted rose, still glimmering in its bell jar, and the iridescent hand-mirror. While wiping the dust off of the table, Edward picked up the mirror and held it up, intrigued. After a quick glance at the Beast, Edward picked up the mirror. "I miss Bella," Edward sighed, distracted by the thought of his love; she owned a similar hand-mirror. "I wish I could see her." The mirror flared to life, sweeping its pale light around the room. A picture of Bella appeared, reflected on its surface: she was reading her battered copy of _Wuthering Heights_, wiping a rogue tear from her eye.

"Put. That. Down," the Beast spat past gritted teeth, evidently attempting to be a gentleman and not estrange the League through uncontrolled anger. Even Edward had an expression of fear on his face as he set the mirror down and slowly backed away.

With significantly raised eyebrows, Percy motioned to Han, attempting to break the tension that had settled over the room. With the aid of his quizzing glass, the baronet snuck another quick glimpse at the mirror as Han began to speak.

"My turn," Han smirked, as he swaggered up and slicked back his hair. "Remember one thing, pal: ladies like hairy men. You just have to know how to handle it." Han smugly raked his fingers through his dark, shaggy hair.

"That's enough!" The Beast roared. "Out. Now!" He leapt from his chair on all fours, Percy and Darcy's progress lost. "I don't need lessons from you—especially about my _hair_," the Beast fumed, chasing the men to the door. "Leave me alone!"

The League lost no time in retreating from the Beast's lair. Once back in Percy's room, they began to regroup.

"Han, what were you thinking?" Edward huffed. "Well, actually, I know what you were thinking—are you really that _dense_?"

"I thought it would work," Han said defensively. "At least I _did_ something today."

"Yeah, and at least I followed Percy's directions," Edward shot back.

"Now, boys, get along," Percy commanded. Han shut up immediately. Edward thought about protesting, but a sharp glance from Percy silenced him too.

"We need to rethink our plan here, gentlemen," Percy said with a wave of his quizzing glass. "Rules and practicality work with our host, just as long as the fact that he is a Beast is not mentioned. But I have an idea—instead of simply telling the Beast what is right or wrong, why don't we _show_ him?"

"Capital," Darcy exclaimed. "But how are you…er, _we_, going to do that?"

Han smirked. "We could have Eddy here dress up in a wig and a skirt and pretend to be a woman—it'd be hilarious."

"Hey," Edward protested. "Watch it, space man!"

"I have a better idea," Percy said nobly. "We'll _show_ the Beast another way. But how?" He looked significantly at Edward, one eye magnified in his quizzing glass.

"His mirror," Edward said. "You can see things in it," the vampire added in exasperation, after seeing the blank looks on the faces of Han and Darcy.

"That's the whole point of a mirror," Han rolled his eyes.

"No, that's not what I meant. I saw my girlfriend in it," Edward said earnestly.

Darcy looked vaguely confused: whether over the mirror, or the term girlfriend, no one else was sure.

"Look, all I said was 'I wish I could see Bella,' and I saw her in the mirror. She was reading a book…and she was crying," Edward added desperately. "You can see people in that mirror."

"And that's significant because..?" Han asked, still waiting for a punch line.

"Because, the Beast is probably watching us at this very moment," Percy said pointedly. "And that means that we should do our utmost to keep that fact that we know this fact a secret. This also means that we can reasonable assume our host shall be watching the activities of the League. Perhaps if we act like the gentlemen that we are, we could influence the manners of our host without directly giving him instruction. What say you, gentlemen?"

"Sounds like a plan," Edward nodded seriously.

"Yeah, it sounds good," Han smirked.

"Odd's fish, let's be off, then," Percy drawled. "We cannot very well show the Beast how to act while simply sitting here."

The men nodded in agreement, heading toward the door.

"Shall we?" Percy asked.

Han laughed dangerously, prompting a derisive snort from Edward.

"What?" Han asked smugly.

"It's just hard to take you seriously sometimes," Edward said, with an air of mock patience.

"Come now, chaps," Darcy said, coming up behind them. "You never know who is watching."

"Look, a corridor," Percy said, trying to distract the League from their petty arguments. "Why don't we see what is on the other side?"

And so they did.


	4. Plan B: ThePlanThat'sNotReallyAPlan

11-26-2009

**AN: **Well, it's time for another update. Happy Thanksgiving! Rodent of Unusual Size, bean21, Baroness Orc, 3DGandBubblez: I am so thankful for your reviews! Anything in this story that you'd particularly like to see? Just tip me off. ;) I still don't own anything except the idea of all of these lovely men in the same place…

Discouraged, the men took a break to come up with a new plan. So Edward Cullen, Sir Percy, Mr. Darcy, and Han Solo were all exploring the castle under the frazzled guidance of Cogsworth.

"No, no, don't touch that!" Cogswoth cried as Sir Percy snatched a sword from the hands of an innocently bystanding suit of armor. The suit of armor shook its fist at Percy who laughed inanely and swung his sword around with panache.

"Engarde," Darcy cried, grabbing another sword that was mounted on the wall.

"Sink me," Percy drawled, "But I'm ready when you are, good fellow!"

Darcy struck towards Percy, but Percy ducked. Although Sir Percy was a tall, broad-shouldered man, he was nimble. Darcy's man advantage was his streamlined clothing and the fact that his sword was lighter than Percy's weapon. Thus began a mock, but very athletic, duel through the halls of the castle. The other two gentlemen followed along, Edward rolling his eyes and Han trying to pick up on the swordsmen's techniques.

"Cease, halt, desist," Cogsworth bellowed after them. "You'll break something!"

Cogsworth called to them in despair, but the League of Gentlemanly Gentlemen carried on, ignoring him.

After swashbuckling and nearly causing Cogsworth to have a mental breakdown for half an hour, the only thing that the League had broken was a sweat. Darcy and Percy were evenly matched as duelists and Edward and Han tried to get in on the action as they raced along the corridors of the castle in pursuit. Suddenly as the swashbucklers rounded a corner, they nearly crashed into a very attractive young woman who wore a simple blue dress. She was very pretty with large, chocolate colored eyes and brown hair that kept trying to slip free of its hair-ribbon.

Percy and Darcy, still in motion, fell toward her. In a flash, Edward appeared at her side, grinning as he lifted the woman out of harm's way. Mr. Darcy and Sir Percy slammed to the floor.

As the panting duelers helped each other up, Edward placed the astonished woman back on her feet.

Without missing a beat, Han Solo sidled up to her. "Hello, little lady," he said, smoothly cocking one eyebrow. "I'm Han Solo, the fastest pilot in six galaxies."

"Oh, hello," she blinked. "I'm Belle."

Sir Percy and Mister Darcy bowed immediately, swords in hand, still breathing heavily from their athletic display of bravado.

"Nice to meet you," Edward nodded debonairly. "I'm Edward Cullen."

"I am Mister Darcy. "It is a pleasure to be making your acquaintance, miss," Mister Darcy said, kissing her hand politely.

"An honor, madam," Sir Percy said drawled graciously. "And I am Sir Percival Blakeney, Baronet."

"Thank you," Belle said warmly, but a little uncomfortably. "When did you arrive here?" she asked, trying to end the awkward silence that had descended.

"Oh, er, late evening last, miss," Mister Darcy replied.

"How was your journey here?" She asked again.

"Faster than the Millennium Falcon at light speed," Han said. Belle looked faintly confused, while Darcy and Edward exchanged a knowing glance. Han had told them all about his galaxy the evening before in what they were sure was a highly stylized account.

"It was as swift as it was pleasant, madam," Percy drawled, jovially smoothing things over.

"I see." Belle still appeared confused: she opened her mouth to ask a question, but then thought better of it. The spark of curiosity, however, did not leave her eyes. "I should let you get back to your duel," Belle said, arching one eyebrow. "I was just exploring the castle."

"Odd's life," Sir Percy exclaimed, "That is just what we were doing also. Will you allow us to accompany you?" He asked, offering his arm. Han, Darcy, and Edward all stared at Belle with puppy-dog eyes.

"Of course," Belle said with a slight smile as she slipped her arm through Sir Percy's.

With note of challenge in the glance the four men shared, the contest to see who could be the most gentlemanly gentleman began. Edward raced ahead to open the door for Belle, while Sir Percy escorted her through it.

"Indeed, and what are your favorite pastimes, miss?" Mr. Darcy said, not only making conversation to be gentlemanly, but also because he was becoming genuinely interested and beguiled with the young woman.

"I feed the chickens and take care of our horse, Philippe, and help my father with his inventions. Some of the things he makes up are wonderful. And I go to town every day," she sighed, "to buy food at the market. And I often stop in at the bookseller's," Belle added brightly.

"You are a voracious reader, then?" Darcy asked.

"Yes," Belle laughed wistfully. "I am. But right now, I feel right in the middle of an adventure."

"Your first time in an enchanted castle?" Percy said, eyeing her through his quizzing glass.

Belle gave Percy another of her cocked-eyebrow, wryly smiling looks that showed her curiosity and amusement. "Yes, it is. Though if only…"

"If only what?" Edward prompted. He had been hanging on Belle's every word.

"If only my father were here," Belle sighed, eyes distant. "He's probably worried sick about me, locked up in this castle with—well, anyhow," Belle said, changing the subject with forced vivacity, "there's not much that I can do to change things. What's down this way?" Belle led them down a hallway.

Popping out of a door down said hallway, Mrs. Potts called, "How would you like a spot of luncheon, dearies? I have a lovely mincemeat pie fresh from the oven. Just follow me."

A small dinning room had been set up for their convenience. Belle, still attached to Percy's arm, noticed right away the subtle tussle between Edward, Han, and Mr. Darcy as they fought a non-verbal duel over who was to pull out her chair complete with a three-way staring contest won by Edward. Percy coked an eyebrow at them as Belle stifled a laugh. Finally, Belle was seated at the table, with all three men pushing in her chair.

As the meal began, Han looked to Sir Percy, Edward, and Mr. Darcy for guidance. Although the place settings were simple, each wanted to be as punctilious as possible. Edward nearly burst out laughing at the sight of Han daintily holding his cup and saucer, pinkie aloft, a sheepish smile on his face.

"This stuff is as delicious as fresh Tatooine sand-lizard," Han said, trying to make conversation."

Everyone stared at him for a moment, baffled.

"Why of course it is," covered Mister Darcy. "This ragout is quite comparable. Actually, it excels."

"Odds fish," Percy drawled, "I have never tasted a more superior dish in all me life."

"It is good," Belle added, "But I should be going. I am sure that you gentlemen had many things to do this afternoon."

"Well, not really--" Edward began. He was interrupted by a glare from Sir Percy.

"It has been most excellent dining with you, miss," Mister Darcy said, pulling out Belle's chair. All the men rose to their feet as she stood.

"Oh, thank you," Belle said as she headed to the door. Edward opened it for her. Have a lovely afternoon."

"Thank you, you also," Percy drawled. As soon as Belle was gone, the men all sank back into their chairs.

"Why did you shush me?" Edward demanded of Percy. "All I was going to do was to ask her if she would like to spend the afternoon with us."

"Here is a general rule," Percy replied, "do not press yourself into a lady's company. I could tell that she was beginning to weary of our escapades, so I let her excuse herself politely, instead of having to decline the invitation."

"I knew that," sulked Edward. "I need to go hunting. Vampires need to eat something. There is a large, rather unchecked population of wolves in the area…"

"Go on, then Edward," Sir Percy said pleasantly.

"I'm going to find a target for some blaster practice," Han mumbled, and trucked outside.

It was only Sir Percy and Mister Darcy left in the room. "Darcy, how do you feel about a gentlemanly game of cards?"

~*~

Filled with sinking despair, the Beast had watched in his mirror how gentlemanly his guests had treated Belle all morning. He had seen their manners: hold open doors, seat ladies, keep conversations pleasant, daintily hold teacups, don't slurp soup. The Beast would do all of these things and do them better. He would be the one to win Belle's love. He would be the most gentlemanly gentleman the world had ever seen, even if he wasn't _technically_ a man.


End file.
